Traditions
by Beeblebabe
Summary: Tsuzuki is always a distraction, particularly in meetings. Hisoka/Tsuzuki.


There are such things as office traditions. In one office, say, the Thursday morning staff meeting is held in the hallway, standing up. In another, the workers keep a steady rotation of whose turn it is go nap in the bathroom after lunch. Then there's the endless game of avoiding taking the last drop of coffee or tea in the break room. These are the unspoken rules of the workplace, the things that always occur, even if the office would be far more efficient without them. 

Tsuzuki Asato is an office tradition. Or, at least, his presence at any given meeting is. It's long been obvious that he offers nothing of value at the meeting. In fact, he takes away from it - usually in the form of whatever refreshments have been provided. He has also been known to escape with pens and the more attractive binders, although he has always claimed forgetfulness as an excuse. 

Tradition is tradition, though, and even Tsuzuki knows that Tatsumi wouldn't enjoy lecturing about the budget half as much without him there to scold for being wasteful, and then to scold again for not listening to the initial lecture. And he can see Watari's little smile when he looks over to Tsuzuki's ledger to see what doodle's he's created. Sometimes he'll even sneak his pen over to add to it - last week, he drew a little lizard to play with Tsuzuki's doodle of a cat. It was a productive meeting. 

Tradition aside, the meetings have gotten more interesting as time has gone by. A new partner is nothing new, but a new partner that stays long enough to become an old partner is something special indeed. 

Kurosaki, at the end of the table, sullen eyes watching and learning the rituals. Kurosaki, across from him, part of it now, but still watching. Hisoka, next to him, not watching anymore but feeling, a new tradition to make late Tuesday afternoons more interesting. 

Also, traditionally in the Juuouchou offices, the person seated closest to Tsuzuki Asato is very likely to become almost as useless as the man himself for the duration of the meeting. And the whole situation is compounded if said person also happens to sleep next to Tsuzuki Asato at night. 

Traditionally (although not really a tradition at all, as this is a first in all of the many who have sat in that closest chair), if the person nearest Tsuzuki also happens to be an empath, he would be better off not bothering to go to the meeting at all. 

***

Tsuzuki's mind wanders. He has long practice of letting Konoe's voice slip into the background, a pleasant soundtrack as he takes in the scene before him. It's almost always the same, but the little differences make it worth it every time. 

Today, Watari has put into his hair two silver satin ribbons that wander in and out of the shocking bright blond waves. Terazuma stole the last cheese danish before Tsuzuki could get to it; the remnants still dust his lips a little white. And Hisoka... Hisoka's chair is closer than usual, and if he moves his leg just a little... there, perfect, he can see the two rapid blinks as his knee leans against his. 

He wishes, sometimes, that he could touch Hisoka more. What he wishes, really, is that he never had to let go. Honestly, what he wishes is that he and Hisoka could stay in his bed forever and ever, wrapped up together, and never need to worry about anything else. But, when he tried that, it was only a day before Tatsumi-san came calling with work for them to do. Also, he got very hungry. 

Hisoka's breath changes a little whenever they touch. He doesn't gasp, not really, but it changes somehow, like a secret message to Tsuzuki only. When he moves his leg to press calf to calf, he can feel the message. I love you. Not here. Not now. Later. 

Later, he thinks, looking up to the ceiling and glancing at the light fixtures too long until purple imprints hover in his vision. Later, he'll be able to go home with Hisoka, and they can touch all they like, without fear of anyone looking, without the annoyance of clothing separating them. Hisoka can kiss him - like he did last night, and the night before, so slow and gentle, like he was something sweet to be savored - and touch his skin with the coolness of his fingertips, and... 

Tsuzuki realizes that he's chewing on his thumb at the same time when he realizes that Hisoka's breath has changed more, to something just slightly heavier, a far less secret message. Tsuzuki looks at the way the silver ribbon braids its way into Watari's hair and chews on his thumb, thinking of Hisoka's teeth and how they were so light on his fingertips, and then how later, he'd barely scraped them up along the flesh of his... 

Hisoka tries to pull his leg away, but Tsuzuki hooks his ankle around it, to make it so they're touching more. Hisoka lets out a long breath - what are you doing, you idiot - and lets his hands settle in his lap, careful to place them on his thighs and nowhere else. Tsuzuki focuses on the slide Tatsumi has put up and thinks about a bath instead. 

Maybe this weekend, they can have time to relax and enjoy a long soak together. The workload has been heavy, but now it's slowing down. He looks down at the table and thinks about how good it would feel to have the warmth of the water surrounding him, hot on his skin like Hisoka's mouth, except Hisoka's mouth is tighter, hotter, better... Actually, it might be better to just skip the bath instead of wasting so much water. They always make such a mess... 

Tsuzuki reaches out to take the last cranberry muffin from the plate on the center of the table, just in time to pull it out of grasp of Terazuma's reaching fingers. He smiles, oblivious, and peels away the wrapper from the bottom of the muffin, picking up the crumbs that flake off with his fingers and putting them into his mouth. They're moist. 

He often wonders what he tastes like to Hisoka. When they're all tangled up, he can feel that it's something good, but he can't feel quite what. You are what you eat, they say, so maybe he's usually sweet. Tsuzuki picks a cranberry from the muffin and puts it on his tongue. Maybe tonight, when Hisoka's lips close around him and he draws his tongue against where it feels so good and his taste is the strongest, he'll be a bit tart. He picks another cranberry from the muffin, scattering crumbs over the tabletop and onto his lap, and hopes he will. 

No matter what he eats, Hisoka always tastes good. Dessert at the end of the day, even if it's not really sweet. The skin on his neck is sweet, and it's always good to taste there, because Hisoka makes sweet noises, then, too. His fingers are salty, sometimes a little bitter, but if he takes just the tip of his tongue across them, he can get out a couple of kinds of sweet. And then there's the real taste, and his mouth starts to water for it even now. He could taste him forever like that, and he always tries to make it last. Root to tip, like ice cream, except without the hurry for fear of melting. The longer he tastes, the better it is. Of course he's a little bitter, but everyone is, but it's different with him. He's heavy on his tongue in a way that makes him want more, that makes him want to try to drink him dry. Then he explodes in flavor, thick in his mouth and warm down the back of his throat. Just enough to keep him hungry, to keep him craving. 

The muffin is nothing but scattered crumbs on the table. Tsuzuki sucks the sticky residue of cranberry pieces from his fingers and listens to the now ragged pace of Hisoka's breathing. His teeth are clenched - are you trying to kill me? - and he's moved his chair as close to the table as possible. Tsuzuki smiles a little to himself. Hisoka's always so easy to excite, even when he's exhausted, even at the end of the night. He's really turned him greedy. Sometimes, it feels like it's a game, to see how much both of them can take. Somehow, no one ever loses. 

Hisoka chokes out a little whimper when Tsuzuki moves his foot up the curve of his calf. The noise makes Konoe hesitate for a moment in the middle of a sentence, and he actually make the rare mistake of looking to Tsuzuki's end of the table. 

"Kurosaki-kun? Are you well?" 

Tsuzuki knows his fingers will be a little sticky, but leans over to put his hands on Hisoka's skin. One hand cradled against the back of his neck, thumb resting to where his pulse races, and the other against his forehead. "Mmm," he murmurs. Hisoka's skin is vibrating - it isn't, really, but it feels like it. Skin to skin now, he feels his cheeks start to turn flushed like Hisoka's. "You feel very warm. I think you have a fever." Hisoka's breath hiccups as he pulls one hand away - what are you doing, you idiot? "I think I should take him home." 

There are murmurs of assent and grumbles of dismay. Tsuzuki's hand is already looped around Hisoka's arm, pulling him to his feet, though, so he doesn't quite hear them. Hisoka's cheeks are flushed dark pink, and Tsuzuki can only think of the way he looks when they're just ready to begin, Hisoka leaning over him, looking at how their bodies are different. His eyes are glassy hazed then, and they are now, and his lips are parted to let him breathe his secret messages. Hisoka staggers a little, but Tsuzuki holds him up. He's so small and light, against his arms, he never would have suspected what such a young body could be capable of... 

"I'll try to come back later." No one will really expect him to. Tatsumi-san will scold him for leaving work undone, but Tatsumi-san's scoldings are the least important thing in the world right now. Hisoka, dazed and underneath his arm, skin and skin meeting at the back of his neck. He leads him out of the meeting room, down the halls, down the many stairs. 

He is small, next to him. It's become surprising how easy it is to forget the physical realities. When he holds Hisoka close, arms wrapped around him, he fits. Head just underneath his chin, he fits like a key. He's small in his arms, thin enough to be fragile. But if he lets go, out of the cradle of his arms, Hisoka will show him the truth. His fingers are more than long enough to wrap around his wrists and hold them against the wall, the floor, the closest solid thing. His body is more than strong enough to roll him, to turn him, to stretch him to his desires. Not that Tsuzuki puts up a fight, but. He forgets that Hisoka is small when his breath is against his throat and his fingers - long fingers - are wandering, tugging, pressing, sliding. He doesn't seem small at all when he's inside... 

"You son of a bitch," Hisoka gasps as they exit the Juuouchou building. His pulse his pounding in his throat. Tsuzuki can almost see it, the secrets it tells with the hitching of his breath. The beating says he isn't really angry at all. 

"Hmm?" Tsuzuki loops his arm around Hisoka's waist and guides him on the way back home. The sky is a little heavy with the smell of looming rain, but sakura petals still scatter on them, clinging in their hair, to their clothes. Once, someone kissed him underneath a sakura tree, but it ended there. It would be nice to try it again now, only more. The smell of it fresh in the air, the feel of rough bark against his back, the thrill of the possibility of being caught. Tsuzuki smiles at the thought, and Hisoka makes a choked noise and staggers a little. 

"When we get home, I'm going to..." At home, they don't need to hold back. Just in the door, Hisoka can have his hands on him, wherever he wants, without any fear. He can touch him, stroke away the ache that's been strong since the meeting, and now burns through his whole body. Hisoka makes him ache, makes him pulse, makes him need, makes him throb, more than anyone ever has before, he thinks. Sometimes Tsuzuki thinks he has to know this. Sometimes Hisoka likes to tease, but it never works quite as he'd plan... 

That once, with Tsuzuki's wrists held lightly with the tie he'd worn to work that day, shirt still half-on, Hisoka'd sat on top of his thighs and just touched. Like he was learning an instrument, testing to see what methods would bring about what kind of music. But he'd touch Tsuzuki, salt-sweet fingertips on his neck, down his chest, over his belly where it could almost tickle. He moaned in duet with Tsuzuki, then, and it wasn't long before he'd undone the knots and they just fell into each other. 

But, Tsuzuki can't tease him, either. Touching Hisoka, seeing the way his eyes close, seeing where his teeth make marks in his lower lip - it all ripples back to him. It's so hard to have patience with him, to have restraint. Touching Hisoka - anywhere, anytime, at the office, on a case, the accidental brush of hands - makes him want to be tasted, want to be filled up. And with his hand against Hisoka's now... 

Hisoka fumbles for his keys at the door to their apartment. Tsuzuki is there with his before he can find them, quick to unlock and to move inside. He has time to slip his shoes off in the genkan, and then Hisoka's hand is curled in the back of his shirt and he's being pushed up against the closed door. Hisoka's fingers curl into his shirt. Tsuzuki feels it coming, and automatically stoops down a few inches. Hisoka's lips are on his, then. 

Hisoka makes him not have to think. So close, almost inside him, inside him, and he stops. 

Tsuzuki tastes something sweet on Hisoka's lips, on his tongue as it pushes into his mouth, sliding against his own. He must have taken a pastry too. Maybe he'll be sweet, now. But now, when Hisoka's fingers are yanking at his tie, popping his buttons, pushing his shirt off, he doesn't think a taste is what he's craving. Or at least, the lingering of his tongue and his lips is enough for right now. 

Hisoka keeps one hand on his chest, pushing him against the door and thumb brushing one of his nipples as he paws at the buckle of his own belt. He whimpers with each breath - need you now. Tsuzuki thumps his head against the door and looks. He's beautiful like this, he always is. Skin pink, body hard and eager, he forgets to breathe when he sees him in this state. His knees buckle when he thinks of it - he's like this because he wants him. He can barely breathe, barely stand, barely walk, all because of how much he needs him. 

He hears a soft swear from Hisoka as he struggles out of his jeans, kicking them away as soon as he can. Tsuzuki feels the command in the growl of his breath and is half turned before Hisoka's hands push him, face towards the door. He cradles his head against his arms so his eyes are covered, pressing into his forearm almost enough to see stars. He doesn't need to see now. Hisoka's hands work open his belt, push his pants down, push his legs apart, and he touches him. Hisoka touches him and he doesn't need to see, doesn't need to think. It's perfect. 

He doesn't savor the anticipation. The yawning ache starts to hurt in the span it takes for Hisoka to wet his fingers in his mouth. At the wet sound of it he parts his lips and tastes the air, envying the last little taste of skin Hisoka enjoys. Hisoka's fingers are long, and thin, and he doesn't, can't resist as they push inside. Hisoka moans before he does when his fingers spread apart inside, stretching, filling. 

He doesn't think of it as pain. This is something that aches, that burns, that makes everything feel more. Pain is something that lingers, that destroys, that lives on for far too long. It hurts, when Hisoka's fingers push slow in to the knuckle and drag out again, but it isn't pain. The hurt just makes him need more, and his hand moves to stroke, just enough to hold him while Hisoka's fingers pull away and another wet sound and.... 

Hisoka. Nothing is better than this, no taste, no sight, no memory. Skin into skin, pushing into him and making him full. The fabric of Hisoka's shirt is cool against the skin of his back, but the skin of his hips is burning hot against the backs of his thighs. Hisoka breathes in two breaths in the same rhythm that Tsuzuki breathes out two, and then he starts to move. 

He doesn't have to think because he can feel. Hisoka in him, filling him - it's only one part of Hisoka, but it's enough to make them flood into each other, and everything is sharper, more real. Empty and full with the steadiness of breath, hurt and heat combining so all he can do is feel. He can't tell if Hisoka's hand has joined his in stroking up and down his length, because it doesn't matter. Even if it's just his own, it's Hisoka's now. Everything is Hisoka's, and that... 

That is a perfect white few seconds of not a thought, only the sensation of heat overwhelming and the phantom taste of skin in the back of his mouth, followed by the echo of Hisoka's shout and the hot, sweet feel of him pulsing inside of him. A moment of connection, complete. 

Tsuzuki opens his eyes. No one has swept the genkan in a while, it seems. A layer of dust is visible on the floor, and kicks into small shimmering particles when he heaves out a sigh. Behind him, Hisoka spends a moment drawing away, sorting through to find himself again. It never takes long, and then his arms are back holding him near again. 

"Son of a bitch," Hisoka speaks, and then lets out a long, wavering sigh - I love you. 

Tsuzuki wonders how the meeting ended, and smiles. 

***

Traditionally, one takes off one's shoes in the genkan, not one's clothing. 


End file.
